


Graduating

by owlsshadows



Series: Graduating [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: (only temporary though), Canon Compliant, Confused Oikawa, Demon Sugawara Koushi, Drunken Kissing, Falling In Love, Gentle Kissing, Implied Sexual Content, Inappropriate Humor, M/M, Memory Loss, Oikawa Tooru Is Not a Morning Person, Soft Oikawa, Some Plot, Underage Drinking, drunk third years, mainly humor, not literal demon but a behavioural one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-14
Updated: 2017-06-13
Packaged: 2018-07-15 03:07:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7204013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlsshadows/pseuds/owlsshadows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oikawa Tooru wakes up in someone else's room. He barely remembers the night before - he knows he chugged down more alcohol than advised, and the first thing that catches his eyes is a pair of banana patterned boxers. Question is: who does it belong to?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Good kids get wasted

Oikawa awakens with a sharp and a dull pain, simultaneously.

Sharp pain, because someone just elbowed him in the temple.

Dull pain, oozing slowly throughout his whole body, from all the alcohol he drank last night.

 

He opens his eyes slightly. His eyelids feel heavy, his eyelashes are gooey. His head is aching and throbbing, and his lips are so dry they chap as he opens them. He breathes in through his slightly cloggy nose.

.

The room he is in is unknown for him; so is the smell of the fabric softener.

It’s different from the one he uses but not unpleasant.

It’s not a floral scent like the one he got used to when he woke up in his ex-girlfriend’s room. Rather, it’s a fresh smell, something that has either “mountain spring” or “ocean breeze” on its bottle.

..

The room he is in is unknown for him; so is the arm swaying above his head.

The hand is relatively big for a girl. It has long, slender fingers and nails cut short. The skin is pale but rough. Its calluses are way too familiar from somewhere.

…

The room he is in is unknown for him, so are the pair of boxers on the floor.

He winces at the fact that it’s a pair of boxers – not that he doesn’t approve of the pattern, on the contrary, the design fits his tastes just fine –, but he really would have preferred something more frilly.

The idea that he might have pulled it off of someone makes him dizzy.

 

Oikawa considers falling asleep again, hoping that when he wakes up next, he will wake up to a different situation.

For example, his own room.

Or his ex’s.

Or a couch at someone’s living room.

Really, the back door of some bar doesn’t sound _that_ _bad_ either…

 

The inside of his mouth is dry like a desert. A desert that someone poured napalm on and set on fire. It tastes like hell.

He is pretty sure that he puked at some point along the night. He wishes to jump up right now, to start for the bathroom and rinse his mouth well and drink from the tap until the thirst disappears from his mouth entirely.

Problem is, he has no idea where the bathroom is, and he is not willing to awaken his partner of the night to figure it out.

 

As he lies in the unknown bed in that unknown room, with an unknown arm dangling above his head, memories of the night start to knock on the door of his consciousness.

He recalls something involving Matsukawa and some other third years from the volleyball club. A goukon, was it? Iwa-chan and Makki ditched them for some arm-wrestling tournament, and then someone said they are missing two people for a goukon.

He remembers Mattsun raising his hand for him.

 

He opens his eyes again, slowly, carefully. He tries to take in the view, the room, the hand, everything, and analyse.

The walls are light blue, the furniture, as much as he can see, simple.

No posters on the wall, at least not on the side he can see, to help him identify his partner-for-the-night.

He then examines the hand, hanging aimlessly mid-air. He swallows back the urge to push it off of his face, inspecting the tiniest details of it meticulously. The skin rough on the fingertips but soft on the palms, and milky white like that of a yamato nadeshiko.

As soon as he reaches his simile, ‘the epitome of pure, feminine beauty’ decides to slap him in the face.

The person next to him turns, and murmurs something half-asleep before dozing off again in a voice that’s undoubtedly male.

Oikawa feels like his heart is about to jump out of its place, but he doesn’t dare to move.

Instead, he tries hard to activate his brain cells he tried to kill so methodically last night.

 

Oikawa recalls how awkward he felt, with all the girls’ attention that he would usually find flattering, under the grudging glares of his friends.

Mattsun was not there to help him out – he hooked up with someone. Probably. Oikawa saw him kissing with some girl beside the toilets for sure.

He also remembers how the beauty of the group has sit on his lap – but that beauty neither had calloused hands, nor she wore a pair of boxers with banana patterns on them, he knows for certain – and how he pushed her off by calling for a toilet-break.

Oikawa remembers the intense sensation of wanting to escape.

He remembers… what does he remember again?

.

Oh yeah.

They went out of town to meet some girls from another school, with cute blazer uniforms.

..

Oh.

Yeah.

They went to Torono town.

…

To meet the prettiest girls in Miyagi prefecture.

The girls of Karasuno.

His heart nearly jumps out of his chest at the sudden thought that the boy next to him might be Tobio.

Nah.

Impossible.

For one, Tobio wouldn’t have such great taste in underwear.

Oikawa could bet all of his monthly allowance that Karasuno’s setter still wears the same type of simple white briefs he wore in junior high. Not that Oikawa wishes to see Tobio’s underwear ever again. Especially not Tobio undressing.

His stomach takes a painful turn.

Definitely not Tobio.

Nonetheless, the realization stays with him. The reason why he connected the boy next to him to Tobio the moment he remembered he went for Torono town the day before was not because he realized that he had been on a goukon with girls from Karasuno.

It was the hands. Calloused fingertips, relatively soft palm.

These hands are not that of a wing spiker, nor are those of a middle blocker. The fingertips, that became hard from all the tosses he has done… there are undoubtedly the hands of a setter.

 

He knew it from the first glance, it just took his alcohol burnt brain a bit more time to realize.

He considers Yahaba for a fleeting moment – he has the same pale shade of skin, though probably with a slightly yellower undertone – but he hushes the idea as he recalls that he went out with only third years.

He is kind of thankful. Yahaba is a good kid, who’s working hard for his club and who’s desperate to get a girl… getting laid by his captain he looks up to and fears at the same time would break him beyond repair.

 

The boy next to him shifts again. A soft huff of air runs down the nape of Oikawa’s neck as he snuggles closer to him.

Oikawa is uncomfortably reminded that they are both naked, as something not-so-familiar rubs against his butt.

He pulls away, crawling further away from his bed-sharer, slowly, as unnoticeable as possible.

The boy turns again, rolling over Oikawa’s side of the bed, placing his hand conveniently on the stomach of the captain of Aoba Jousai.

Oikawa presses his eyes together firm shut, but that doesn’t help to relieve him from the gross sensation of the weight of the hand through the thin blanket over his body. He can feel the other’s hand on his muscles, he can feel the thumb resting just above his weak spot of skin under his belly button…

He inhales sharply, sneaking further away, inch by inch, not to awaken the boy who claims more and more territory on the bed.

It’s the moment a stray leg lands on his hips that Oikawa falls off the bed.

“For God’s sake!” he shouts, drops of tears forming in the corners of his eyes from frustration.

A deep, dark giggle emerges from under the blankets. The boy lifts his head: his ashen-blonde hair is a terrible case of bed-head, his face is slightly puffy from sleeping, and a wide grin is on his face.

“You provide premium quality amusement, Oikawa,” the boy greets him.

“Fuck it, Sugawara,” Oikawa replies back, throwing the banana boxers into the face of Karasuno’s setter. “You play unfair.”

“Or you are just not a good sport,” the boy remarks, giggling softly in his pillow. He doesn’t even care for the pair of boxers dangling idly from his ear.

Oikawa shrugs.

 

Now he remembers. His memory clears up at once, and the pieces suddenly fit together.

 

He was annoyed. He felt awkward. He wanted to be anywhere, but in that karaoke room with the hungry girls and angry boys all gawking their eyes out in his direction. He hated the smell, the songs the others picked, the mushiness of the sofa, the syrupiness of his coke…

He left for the restroom, but he didn’t stop until the entrance.

He bumped into Sugawara at the front desk. He came to sing, to blow the fuse.

Oikawa knocked his wallet out of his hands by accident, littering the floor with coins. He squatted down instantly to help pick up the money, muttering fast apologies, when the sleeve of his coat was grabbed by long, pale fingers.

“Oh, look. Such royalty in our humble town,” Sugawara greeted him, amused. “What brings you here, picking up coins for the townspeople, great king?”

“Shut it, Mr Refreshing,” Oikawa mumbled, smashing the cash into the palm of the other setter.

“You seem frustrated,” Sugawara said in a quiet voice. _“Care to join?”_

 

Oikawa recalls it now. Sugawara has a tricky voice. It’s soothing, but haunting at the same time.

He remembers how the boy led him back to an empty room, just a few doors away from the goukon he abandoned. The songs Sugawara chose were old and melancholic. He sang them with passion.

Oikawa felt as if he was in another country, or more like another universe. No open gazes of girls hunting for a popular boyfriend; no ill glances of boys regretting they took him with them. No mocking remarks from Mattsun about how he still cries over an ex who left him.

Just Sugawara, who couldn’t care less for his problems.

Sugawara, who had his own pain to sing out.

It was… refreshing.

 

He remembers them walking out of the karaoke bar some time before midnight. He remembers how the stars were shining on the clear night sky. He remembers how they walked down, then still fully sober, in the direction of the station. Sugawara offered to walk him to his last bus, which they wouldn’t have missed… should they not stopped only meters away, at the entrance of a liquor stand.

“Hey,” Oikawa started. “Do you think they would serve us here?”

Now, that Sugawara peeks out of the blankets with a devilishly innocent look on his face, Oikawa recalls more than ever the expression the boy had on his face last night, under the flickering neon lights of the city. It was a look completely indifferent. Lifeless.

“I don’t see why they wouldn’t,” he said solemnly, sinking his hands inside his pockets. “We are in casual clothes anyway, there is no telling we are high school students.”

It was Oikawa’s idea.

Yet, it was Sugawara who pushed the entrance open.

And they were served. _Oooh, they were._


	2. Good kids get lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ... after a good 10 months of silence, I'm back!  
>  Warning: no beta, no shame, we die like men.

“Are you comfortable down there?” comes the question in between giggles from Sugawara, who laughs with his boxers hanging from his ear. Oikawa could bet all his pocket money – should he not spend it all on liquor the day before – that this is a picture that will forever burn into his memory.

He sits naked on the floor of Sugawara’s room, fibres from the carpet pricking his naked butt. He finds his situation the furthest from being comfortable.

“As you may imagine,” he starts, throwing his pride and shyness away to stand up from the floor; “your carpet stings.”

“Well, who would have thought you were such a chicken?”

“I’m weak to teasing, surprisingly,” Oikawa replies. The memory of Sugawara’s meanly placed serves crosses his mind. “No one doubted you’re a sadist, though.”

“Oh, you flatter me.”

“Never had the intention to do so.”

Oikawa makes his way to the headboard under the amused gaze of Sugawara to grab his pair of underwear hanging from the wooden bedpost.

“I recall you compliment my skin yesterday,” Sugawara argues. As he sits up, his underwear finally falls onto his lap.

“I did things more embarrassing than that yesterday,” Oikawa says.

“So you remember,” Sugawara smiles at him widely. “Though I hoped you would not, so I could tease you more,” he adds.

Oikawa stays silent. He covers his manhood with his boxers and tries hard not to uncover the fact that his recollection is still sluggish, with many blank spots to fill.

He might be able to live with not knowing how he ended up in bed with Karasuno’s setter.

At least he remembers why he came to his house.

*

“Romantic, ain’t it?” Oikawa asked, melting off his cheap plastic chair at the liquor stand.

Sugawara raised an eyebrow.

“And by that, you mean…?”

“Argh, this feeling, really.” Oikawa gestured vaguely towards the sky, sinking deeper in his chair.

“Oh my,” came a weird, high-pitched tone from the seat that just a moment before belonged to Sugawara, and it took Oikawa a few seconds to realise that it was indeed Sugawara speaking, only in an altered voice. “To think the Great King would find my company romantic!” the boy acted.

“Gosh, I’m not speaking about _that_ type of romantic!” Oikawa flailed around with his arms widely, shoving two empty bottles to the floor by accident.

“Okay, okay stop” Sugawara said, holding off Oikawa from causing more harm to his surroundings. “I’m not going to ask whether you are drunk or not, since it’s obvious,” he continued. “But you could really give some details, you know.”

“It’s not kissing secretly in a dark corner, nor whispering lustful words into each other’s ear,” Oikawa started, shaking his head disapprovingly. “A true romantic moment is when you realize just how fleeting your existence is.”

“You should’ve become a poet,” Sugawara laughed shortly, but there was nothing dismissive in his tone. “I doubt it would make you more popular. But at least, you would’ve given us far less of a hard time.”

“You still won, didn’t you?” Oikawa asked softly. He smiled slowly, almost fondly at the other setter.

It was this moment. Sugawara absent-mindedly ruffled through his hair, and Oikawa closed his eyes. When the moon was high up on the sky and the night was refreshingly chilly, he felt that sitting under the tent of a liquor stand lit by smelly oil lamps was indeed romantic.

It was probably intoxication. Booze bending time and space and words in their chaotic speeches; bringing up feelings, usually deep hidden, to the surface.

It was the brief moment of realization and acceptance that they are bound to say goodbye to it all. Those familiar strangers. The ladies working in the cafeteria. The underclassmen greeting them in the corridors. The pretty young teacher from an elective they didn’t take; that one kid from that other class, who they once bumped into and they still share a few glances now and then; the parent of some kid on the team who visited all of their matches ––

The thought that high school was bound to end made Oikawa weak and wavering.

“Not even a week remains, huh?” Sugawara said as if he was reading the thoughts of Oikawa. “It feels so bizarre and unbelievable that we’re graduating.”

Oikawa was barely listening; he leaned back in his chair eyes fixated on the stars peeking in through the skinny slit on the oilcloth roof of the stall.

“I still can’t believe you won against Ushiwaka,” he muttered, minutes later, and he leaned forward to play with the neck of a bottle. “I… tried. I tried and tried and tried again. I couldn’t win, not even once, in three whole years.” His gaze fell on Sugawara. The boy stared back at him. “And you went and won your very first match against them. No matter how hard I try…”

“… I can’t win against Kageyama,” finished Sugawara, ever so softly. Their eyes met; Oikawa frowning and Sugawara smiling ever-so-sadly. They had a moment, quite a prolonged one, really. It felt as if they could read each other’s’ thoughts; as if they understood each other more than any other human being did.

“Fuck Kageyama,” Oikawa said. “Fuck geniuses.”

“Fuck everyone in general.” Sugawara added and pried the bottle out of Oikawa’s hands and he chugged down the leftovers.

 

Sugawara’s drunk laugh had a strangely familiar taste to it.

It made Oikawa think about just how similar this guy might have been to him. They both tried their best, and it was not enough.

Upon meeting him for the first time, he soon realized that Sugawara had lived through the thing he considered to be his worst nightmare: he was overshadowed by Kageyama and forced out of his regular position.

And yet, he stood on court the moment they had beaten Aoba Jousai in the semi-finals.

 

They ordered another bottle. The last one, Sugawara commented apologetically folding his near-empty wallet out before leaning onto the table. He was too drunk to lift his head anymore.

Oikawa hummed slowly, eyes wandering from the wallet to the birthmark in the corner of Sugawara’s eye.

He pondered over granting the other setter a win over himself. Not a win he would ever admit, though; just a small mind-note, something to remind himself that this guy is indeed remarkable but also dangerous.

“I envy you,” he whispered under his breath. He caught Sugawara’s hazy glance, but doubted that the boy had heard him.

He poured a glass for Sugawara, he poured one for himself. The glasses sat next to each other, untouched. The boys sat next to each other, shoulders brushing, glancing at each other sloppily and drunk.

“Hey, Sugawara?” Oikawa asked, minutes later.

“Hn?” the boy looked up to him, forehead marked red by the table he had leaned on.

“Do you have a sofa?”

“Why?” came the question instantly, warm golden eyes opening in confusion.

“I… missed the last bus,” Oikawa lamented.

“Ah, is that so.” Long blink. Long lashes. Sugawara looked up at him with a very sleepy smile on his face. “Yeah. In that case, I suppose so.”

“Suppose what?”

“That I have a sofa.”

*

They started for the house a little after 3AM; the most silent hour in town. It seemed that even the cicadas went to sleep before them; all they could hear was each other’s sloppy steps.

Oikawa doesn’t remember exactly when or why they linked fingers, but he does remember that they only parted when Sugawara had to search for his keys.

He looks up to the boy sitting on the bed, pulling on his banana print boxers.

“I have a feint memory of begging myself into this situation…” he says remorsefully.

“It did happen. Not that I have any complaints, though.”

“God, Sugawara.”

“I’m not God,” the boy comments, and bursts into laughter as soon as Oikawa, face flushing red from anger and embarrassment, climbs the bed to attack him with whatever gets in the way of his hands.

“You are devil, rather,” Oikawa says, huffing. Sugawara is dying of laughter under the pillow he has been slapped with.

“Everything is a matter of perspective.”

“You made me beg for you to let me in your bed. Tell me what it is if not evil.”

“I let you sleep here after listening to your whining, if my memory doesn’t fail me,” Sugawara says with an evil smirk.

“You never said I have to share the sofa with a dog twice my size!”

“Yeah, these were your exact words,” he nods much to Oikawa’s displeasure. “Though when I let you sleep here, never in my wildest thoughts had I imagined you would do what you did…”

 “What did I do?” Oikawa asks before he realizes that he has just walked into a trap.

“Holes in your memory?” Sugawara smiles, leaning closer. “Would you like a refresher?”

“Wait,” Oikawa says, quickly lifting his hand to stop Sugawara in his movements. “I would like to go to the bathroom first.”

“Second door to the right,” Sugawara says smoothly, rolling back to his original position. An audible sigh leaves Oikawa’s lips as he makes his escape majestically trotting across the room fully dressed in his pair of alien-patterned boxers.

He is halfway through the corridor in near-commando when he realizes that he doesn’t even know whether Sugawara’s parents are at home or not.

As if he could read his mind, Sugawara ducks his head out of his room.

“In case you forgot. My parents are enjoying their second honeymoon in Okinawa.”

Oikawa shrugs from relief.

“By the way,” Sugawara continues. “I put a new towel for you on top of the washing machine last night, and if you open the closet left to the shower cabinet, you will find a new toothbrush on the second shelf. Feel free to use anything you need.”

“I…” Oikawa starts, but Sugawara is not courteous enough to listen. With a big yawn he turns and closes the door behind him, which leaves Oikawa to his thoughts.

 

He is thankful that Sugawara let him escape.

He feels that he is not ready to face some of last night’s moments.

He enters the bathroom with sluggish movements, opening the tap before even bothering to find where the toothbrush Sugawara mentioned is, and he marches under the shower leaving only his boxers outside the shower cabin.

As the warm water hits his head, Oikawa sighs again soundly.

He decides that he gives himself ten minutes to get his shit together.

He opens all the bottles to choose the best smelling shampoo for his hair.

Or just to clear his thoughts, who knows.

He is confused. And sick. His stomach is empty, his throat hurts, his head aches. His thoughts are all over the place. He remembers a conversation faintly, on just how frightening it is to graduate. He is sure that at some point, Sugawara called him stupid. He knows that the dog was on the couch when they arrived, huge and hairy, making tiny noises while he slept. Oikawa remembers – though he wishes he were not – how he grabbed the edge of Sugawara’s shirt. He asked whether there is anything else he could sleep on.

“My bed is double,” Sugawara said, unwillingly. “But if you kick me in your sleep…”

Oikawa wonders what else he might have done while he washes himself. Then he spots a hickey on his shoulder and decides not to wonder anymore.

His head aches unbearably.

He steps out of the shower and fiddles around wet, trying to find where the fresh towel is. When he finds it, he meticulously dries himself.

Contrary to popular belief, he doesn’t spend hours in the bathroom; he doesn’t wrap a towel around himself in order to sing opera while posing theatrically, either. Most of the days he doesn’t even do his hair. He is lucky, gifted with naturally soft hair that curls into cowlicks if it hasn’t been freshly cut.

He pulls up his treasured pair of boxers and washes his teeth before he walks back to the room.

As he opens the door he kind of awaits some witty remarks right off the bat, but the room stays silent. Sugawara is sound asleep. He is tangled in the blanket, pale white skin blending in the light blue of the covers.

Oikawa decides not to wake him up. Instead, he takes his time discovering the room.

Memories sizzle over the surface of his muddy, hangover dumbed brain with every glance he takes. He finds his clothes on a chair next to Sugawara’s desk – pants and socks neatly folded on the seat, jacket laid over the arm – and he remembers putting them there. He does not, however, have any idea how his t-shirt ended up on the desk itself. It seems as if it was thrown there, discarded in a hurry, inside out. He takes the unlucky piece of fabric and shakes it a bit, hoping that it will regain its original form by just that. It still looks miserably crumpled as he pulls it on to hide the disgraceful hickey on his shoulder.

The t-shirt smells. It smells of alcohol and sweat and puke, and Oikawa gets rid of it just as fast as he took it on.

Cursing under his breath, he walks to the bed. He would like to wake Sugawara up, but he doesn’t dare to. He would like to thank him for the toothbrush, and ask for a change of clothes. He would also like to ask about the things they’ve done… even if he gets chills just at the thought of what might have happened.

It’s getting more and more obvious, that they _did_ something… but how far did they go?

He walks up and down the length of the bed, questions and doubts jumping in his head like table tennis balls.

He is unclear about most of the things that happened after they entered the house.

 

He remembers holding hands while walking home.

But come on, that can happen to anyone.

 

He also has a faint recollection of a kiss Sugawara planted on his lips. He is uncertain of the events prior to the kiss or leading to it; he recalls though, that it was sweet from liquor.

But come on… that can happen to anyone drunk enough to forget about themselves.

 

He is actively hushing the memory away while he glances over at the sleeping Sugawara. The ashen blonde setter sleeps as if it was the most natural thing to do, after he slept with a near-stranger from a rival high school.

At least he wears his boxers now, Oikawa thinks letting out a sigh of relief.

Halfway into the sigh, however, he spots something disturbing, rendering him frozen in his farce. He stops abruptly, even his breath is stuck in his throat.

On Sugawara’s pure white thighs, there are bright purple marks blooming, like lilies in the snow.

And Oikawa remembers of the most embarrassing thing that has happened to him last night.

He no longer tries to hush the fact that he had done things that go beyond what can happen to anyone.


	3. Good kids get breakfast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oikawa has a smaller existential crisis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not proofread. If you spot something stupid, let me know :)

Oikawa would really appreciate if the existential crisis that hits him had some common sense; at least not to hit him when he is wearing nothing but his underwear, standing beside the bed of Sugawara.

He is _so_ not prepared to deal with this whole situation.

 

His eyes wander frantically around the room, trying to escape reality. At least Sugawara is in a peaceful slumber, breathing softly on top of the blankets, which gives Oikawa a few minutes to calm his panicked heart.

 

It’s always uncomfortable to be the first to awaken if you are a guest at a sleepover – with nothing left to do, but to wait for your host to wake up – but it’s awkward beyond belief when the other has hickeys all along his thighs. Oikawa feels like he would be grateful for the carpet if it swallowed him whole as his memories gradually slip back together, highlighting his most embarrassing moments.

He remembers now how he spewed bullshit all night. He talked about poetry and graduation; the stars and how Sugawara had skin like the moonlight.

He remembers now the moment they held hands: he tripped over his own foot, Sugawara caught him by the wrist. The first shock of the misstep passed, but with adrenaline still drumming in his ears, Oikawa grabbed the hand holding onto him.

And they somehow stayed like that.

He remembers now how silent the streets were while they walked hand-in-hand, stealing sneaky glances at each other in between nonsensical giggles.

Fear crawls up his spine sending shudders over his shoulders at the realization, that the one initiating something more than an innocent peck was himself.

 

The blankets shift under Sugawara, dragging Oikawa back to the present, and his heart throbs against his ears in an alarming rate as he sees the other boy opens his eyes.

 “You look terrible.”

Sugawara’s comment is nothing more than a low moan. He looks much more sluggish then just half an hour before, when he teased Oikawa into falling out of the bed. He glances up from behind half-closed lids, rubbing the remnants of sleep from his eyes.

“That’s mean,” Oikawa says.

“The truth can hurt sometimes.”

“Were you born a sadist, or did someone break you?” he asks, agitated. Sugawara stops in his movement, tilting his head upwards to fully meet his frenzied gaze. Oikawa blinks into the golden brown eyes until he shies his glance away towards the ceiling. He bites back an apology.

“Did you take a shower?” Sugawara changes the topic, rolling out of bed. Oikawa nods in response, and as Sugawara walks past him, he is reminded of their height difference.

Maybe it’s the way he carries himself… somehow Sugawara seemed taller in his memories.

“You didn’t take long,” Sugawara says. He steps to his cupboard, pulling out several pieces of fabric. “Here, T-shirt,” he says, handing something blue to Oikawa. “It’s a bit loose on me, so hopefully it will fit well.”

“Thanks,” Oikawa mutters, pulling the shirt on without even caring to look at the pattern.

“Oh, come on now, don’t be so glum. You look like someone who has just seen death,” says Sugawara quietly, pulling on a pair of soft pants which hide his hideous marks.

Oikawa spots another hickey, right behind Sugawara’s left ear. It’s beside a beauty mark he remembers, just as well as how hungry he felt as he flooded Sugawara with compliments and littered his face and neck with fleeting kisses.

“I’m so… sorry,” he groans, hiding his face in his palms.

“Don’t be?” Sugawara replies. “Though I’m not entirely sure whether you facepalm like that because you were all over me _or_ because you fell asleep in the middle of…”

“No,” Oikawa cuts in, hands covering Sugawara’s lips instead. He can feel Sugawara smile against his palm, and something deep dormant stirs in his body. “Don’t remind me. Please.”

Sugawara snorts, air brushing over Oikawa’s fingers. He doesn’t try to free his lips, rather he reaches out to cup Oikawa’s chin in his hands. His thumbs sweep across his lips ever so slightly.

“Wait,” Oikawa demands, catching Sugawara’s hands to stop them from moving. His heart beats in his throat as their eyes meet. He casts his eyes quickly to the floor. “Just… forget about what happened yesterday and let me go home.”

“I’m not holding you captive.”

He swallows down hard.

_“Please.”_

It’s nothing more than a barely breathed plea against his frantically beating heart. He can feel Sugawara’s eyes on him, observing him quietly, thoroughly.

 “At least have some breakfast before you go.”

“I won’t possibly survive that,” Oikawa shrugs and walks to the chair beside the desk where he folded his clothes the night before. His jeans seem fine enough to wear.

“I won’t poison you, I promise,” Sugawara chuckles.

“Sugawara, are you gay?” Oikawa snaps. “Because I’m not, and this whole situation is very hard on me even without your teasing…”

“I swing both ways,” Sugawara cuts in, smiling. “And _so are you_.”

 

*

 

“Your breath stinks,” Sugawara grimaced.

“I just puked,” Oikawa replied matter-of-factly, leaning on Sugawara as they mounted the stairs.

“Yeah, I noticed. You’re lucky you’ve reached the toilet, otherwise I would’ve had to murder you if you got vomit on the carpet of the living room.”

“Lucky me,” Oikawa agreed.

“Here, get some mints,” Sugawara offered, summoning a tin box out of thin air – or maybe he found it in the pocket of his jacket, but at this point everything Sugawara did seemed like magic to Oikawa.

“Is it really OK for me to stay?” he asked.

“Hn, I told you.”

“I won’t kick you, I swear.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sugawara hushed, petting the head of Oikawa. “You should get drunk more often. You become so docile…”

“What did you say?”

“Nothing. Here, let me open the door.”

Oikawa protested softly against letting Sugawara go, but the shorter setter seemed to easily overpower him, leaning him on the doorframe while he fiddled with the doorknob.

The room was at first dark, then suddenly there was light, and Sugawara pulled him in. The walls were light blue as the summer sky. The curtains over the window had a colourful, funky pattern with animals and palm trees. The carpet of the floor was the colour of bamboo chopsticks, so was the furniture, the desk, the cupboard with drawers, the bookshelves.

Sugawara owned many books, and some manga magazines that looked familiar to Oikawa. On the desk, he had a pile of notebooks, a reading lamp, and a round shaped pen holder.

Everything seemed so tidy, compared to his own.

“Is this your room?”

“Yes.”

“Nice.”

“Thanks.”

They stood there for a moment, awkward and drunk, before Sugawara stepped to the cupboard.

“You can put your stuff on the chair by the desk, I will get you something to sleep in…”

“Don’t bother, I’m fine with my shirt…”

“You got puke on that,” Sugawara retorted, sorting out his pyjamas to find something appropriate.

“Really, stop searching,” Oikawa said, throwing his arms around Sugawara’s neck. The boy sighed, turning to face the drunkard.

“Good boy, you folded your clothes nicely,” he teased Oikawa, but the taller boy didn’t take the bait. “Now, get off of me and take off this disgusting smelling thing.”

“You’re so beautiful,” Oikawa said, pressing their foreheads together.

“You’re stinking,” Sugawara snorted.

“Hmm,” Oikawa purred and pulled his T-shirt over his head, tossing it back to the desk.

He turned his attention back to Sugawara in an instant. For a short while, he just stared at Sugawara with shining brown eyes. As their eyes met, as if finding the answer he was looking for, he gave out a weird small chortle closing the gap between their bodies again.

“Your skin is so soft,” he mumbled, kissing Sugawara on his temple.

“Oh, is that so?” the boy asked, half laughing, half leaning into the touch.

Oikawa nodded fervently, and he kissed Sugawara again, whispering little nothings into his ear. He graced each and every beauty mark with a peck, sloppy, wet and eager, as Sugawara’s hands found their way onto his neck, diving into his hair, tugging at it.

Sugawara’s breath tickled his neck, the voice of his ragged breathing echoed in his ears, and Oikawa planted a more-than-chaste kiss on his lips, drawing a surprised “Oh” out of the boy.

And Sugawara was more than welcoming; hands pulling him closer and lips parting to deepen their kiss.

It made him crazy.

“Is this what you want?” Sugawara breathed, discarding the remnants of their clothing.

“Yes.”

_“Nice.”_

 

*

 

Oikawa sits like a well evolved loser on his stool in the kitchen of the Sugawara household, holding an intense glaring contest with his own reflection in his glass of water.

“Don’t only look at it, drink it. You need to rehydrate yourself,” Sugawara nudges him on his way from the fridge to the oven.

“How come you have a better resistance to alcohol than me?” Oikawa asks.

“I’m just better at hiding my hangover.”

“Pretty words. You seemed totally sober yesterday as well.”

“Did I?” Sugawara glances back, grinning. “I did sober up somewhat on the walk home,” he then admits. “But I was still plenty drunk, partaking in a random make out session with none other than Seijou’s Oikawa… ouch,” he gasps surprised, after Oikawa pinches his ear.

“No more talk about my dark past,” the boy says.

“Yes, yes. If I were you I wouldn’t want to hear about it either. Falling asleep when you’ve just started a blowjob, really…”

“Blowjob?!” Oikawa’s voice comes out as a high pitched shriek, making Sugawara jump in surprise.

“You still don’t remember?”

“I thought…”

“What? That we had sex?” Sugawara lifts his chopsticks to roll the tamagoyaki. He continues talking while he skilfully folds the egg into the desired shape. “Do your hips hurt?”

“Why would they hurt?”

“If we had sex, you see,” Sugawara lifts the frying pen off the heat, plopping the egg roll over the cutting board. “You had a reason to hurt.”

Oikawa looks at the sizzling hot pan, the gleaming yellow omelette, the wicked grin on Sugawara’s face.

“You pervert,” he says finally, hiding his blush behind his glass of water.

“Says the guy who was sure that he topped me,” Sugawara places plates on the counter. They have some leftover miso soup, fried veggies and egg with the rice.

“You are dangerous,” Oikawa murmurs, helping out with the tableware obediently.

“And?” Sugawara asks, clearly teasing.

“And nothing,” Oikawa says, intonation making clear that he considers the conversation over. Burying his face in his glass again, he tries to free himself of his jumbled thoughts of fingers digging in his shoulders and lips reaching for his throat and thighs, white and muscular, and the _craving_ tingling his skin still.

“Boring,” Sugawara says, pouting. Oikawa’s eyes catch on his lower lip.

If he knew how hard an effort Oikawa makes not to growl and leap at him, he would probably stop himself.

But he does not; and so he leans over to place a bowl of miso soup in front of Oikawa. As he bends, his T-shirt opens a sliver of his skin to the eyes of the onlooker, and Oikawa _shivers_ to fight off his imagination.

He has never felt so stirred or so threatened in his life. He feels as if his very existing with all his beliefs were shaking and crumbling underneath him, and he is grateful for the stool he sits on to carry his weight for himself, because he fears if he stood, he would have already fallen.

He _wants_ Sugawara.

And he finds him annoying and shameless and audacious, and he is getting on his nerves, but he still wants him, with his unbearable smug grin and his terrible bedhead.

He wants to hear his voice again, low and needy, as he hisses his name as he nips his thighs.

He wants to kiss his skin again, to glorify all his beauty marks and scars and bruises from training.

He wants to hold his hand again, drunk and delirious.

He wants Sugawara and he is to terribly afraid to admit it.

 

“You’re not eating,” Sugawara says his voice patient, but his eyes give away his uneasiness. “I told you I’m not going to poison you.”

“I know.”

“Then eat. It’s an insult to my cooking skills if you leave anything.”

“Say, Sugawara,” Oikawa starts, and his knuckles whiten as his grip tightens around his chopsticks. “Would you still… just theoretically, but… would you still have a ‘random make out session with none other than Seijou’s Oikawa’ if you were sober?”

Sugawara lifts his head and looks him straight in the eyes. There’s a moment of hesitation, careful consideration, or maybe just a theatrical silence to make Oikawa suffer more; then Sugawara closes his eyes to blink, a faint smile appearing on his lips.

“Maybe,” he says. “I’m not sure.”

 

The morning slowly turns into afternoon, and once he found his phone and revived it with the help of Sugawara’s charger, he starts getting his messages.

One brief message from Iwa-chan saying he has won the arm-wrestling tournament.

A photo from Makki – of Iwa-chan and himself posing with a grotesque looking cup that has very muscular arms – with lengthy coverage on how the tournament went, what they ate, with whom they’ve met, and generally how much they’ve enjoyed a day without “the annoying baggage” of Oikawa.

A message from Yahaba asking for tips on how to get Kunimi to play seriously.

A selfie from Mattsun, embracing a girl.

“Hmm, should we take one as well?” Sugawara comes up behind him, teasingly dangling his arms around his shoulders.

Oikawa jumps in surprise and promptly drops his phone.

“Oh come on, don’t be so skittish!” Sugawara laughs and picks up his phone for him.

“I think it’s time for me to go home,” Oikawa says, rushing to the other side of the room – to put space between them, to be able to breathe, to grab his stuff – because he can’t get caught, not now, not like this, but he is reaching his limit fast. “I will wash and return your shirt as soon as possible.”

“If you say so,” Sugawara pouts, and Oikawa can’t believe he doesn’t do it on purpose anymore.

 

He gets a nice plastic bag to carry his puke-smelling T-shirt, along with a strong slap on his back, which makes him unable to breathe for a second, wondering if his ribs are still intact, and it’s so not cute

– _yet he wants to pull Sugawara closer, to plant a kiss on his lips and bury his head in the hollows between his neck and and his collarbone and just hug the hell out of Karasuno’s setter in general_ –

And he blushes.

 

 _“I’m not holding you captive_.” Oikawa remembers Sugawara’s words on his way to the station. A sudden wind sends shivers down his spine, and he pulls up the collar of his coat in hopes to hide the blush creeping up his face.

 _Yes, you are_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really thought I could get this out earlier, but school and work and life conspired against me. Thank you for reading!


	4. Good kids get along

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oikawa returns what he has borrowed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not proofread. If you find anything weird, please let me know.
> 
> Also, as I can’t possibly make puns that make sense in English but also reflect what would make sense for Japanese kids, please accept “random wisdom/quote generator Koushi”... his role is very tiny^^

Returning a T-shirt turns out to be a tougher task than one would imagine.

First of all, Oikawa is Oikawa. He has his reputation to uphold. He is _the_ ‘Oikawa of Seijou’ – he can’t just appear in front of the school gates of Karasuno one afternoon to return a T-shirt to Sugawara – only to be reminded of the events _that night_ , and _to start blush and mumble as soon as he sees him_.

Second, Oikawa is Oikawa. He is a prideful person. He can’t just call Sugawara to agree on a time and space to meet – only to be reminded of the events of _that night_ , and _to start to blush and mumble as soon as he hears him_ – and even if Sugawara won’t see his blush through a phone call, his mumbling is telling enough.

Third, it would be just the best if Sugawara was not as calm and cool and collected about this whole situation as he is; if he was to blush and mumble and try to avoid Oikawa’s stare, and if he seemed at least a little embarrassed.

But this guy is just unbearably shameless.

He would press himself naked against someone only to tease them, he would smile and say the unthinkable as if it was the most natural topic of conversation, and _oh_ , he would smile, and his smile would be the softest, and he would seem like a pure angel, and he would say _maybe_.

Sugawara is a merciless bastard, fully equipped with tricks to make people crave for his touch, and Oikawa wonders whether he has made a pact with the devil to get that chuckle which ignites fires under his skin when he hears it.

Oikawa is smooth.

Oikawa is popular.

Oikawa is Oikawa.

Oikawa is not supposed to tremble, holding onto his phone as if his life depended on it, hiding in a stall in the restroom, while drafting a message, because his voice fails him every time he even thinks about Sugawara.

Though, contrary to popular belief, Oikawa is _terrible_ at texting.

Thus, he spends the entire lunch break in his impromptu hideout, and by the first bell signing the start of the afternoon classes, all he has is the dumbest text message ever written.

 

Conversation Title: I have your T-shirt.

Message Text: I have your T-shirt.

 

He is about to scrap it all, when the door of the restroom opens with an alarming bam, and someone storms in, giving Oikawa a jump scare. And even if he collects himself pretty quickly, he has tapped on his phone not to drop it…

His phone rings almost instantly. He kicks the stall open and leaves the room as soon as he can, walking past a seemingly very frustrated student.

“Yes?” he breathes picking up the phone as he enters an empty classroom.

“You have my T-shirt,” Sugawara says. Oikawa can hear in his voice that he fights hard to suppress a laughter. “What a surprise.”

“I was interrupted and sent the message unfinished.”

“Yeah, I presumed you wouldn’t want to embarrass yourself like that _intentionally_.”

Oikawa feels warmth creeping up his neck and burning his ears. He tries hard to fight back his immense urge to hang up on Sugawara out of nervousness. Sugawara, on the other end of the line, seems to be entirely calm and relaxed.

“So, you’d like to return my T-shirt, I guess?”

“Yes.”

“It’s not urgent, you know, I don’t really wear that T-shirt anyway. I bought it last year hoping that I would grow at least a few centimetres, but…”

“I have your T-shirt,” Oikawa cuts in. He manages to pull his composure together just enough not to stutter. “With me. Now. Are you free after school?”

“Oh. Today?” Sugawara asks. He sounds troubled.

“If it’s no good, we can meet up another time,” Oikawa offers.

“No, no, it’s fine. We have a meeting with the team today, but after that I’m free. Where should we meet?”

“I will wait for you.”

“Not by the school gates,” Sugawara says, hurriedly. Anxious. As if even he had a tad bit of decency in himself. His tone urges Oikawa to mess with him, to tease him, to _pay back._

“Why not?” he provokes. There’s a second of pause and he hears Sugawara taking a deep breath. It makes him satisfied, knowing that he managed to rile him up.

“Oi… listen,” Sugawara starts, and _he doesn’t dare to speak out his name in his school._

“I’m listening,” Oikawa sings, stuttering long forgotten.

“You’re not a very well-liked figure around here. I’m afraid you’d get attacked if you showed your face at the main gates.”

“Then, where?”

“By the karaoke bar?”

“Feasible. When?”

“I’ll be there at six.”

“Good.”

“Yeah, well. Thanks for returning my T-shirt.”

“Thanks for letting me borrowing it.”

“Ok. See you there. Bye?” Sugawara says in a questioning tone, as if he is unsure whether the conversation is over or not.

“Good,” Oikawa says, not sure if he wants to add anything – or rather, not sure if bringing up a _maybe_ would be a wise decision _at all_. Certainly not over the phone, he decides, and certainly not when he has a class to attend within minutes. “See you,” he says, hanging up. By the time he pockets his phone, his nervousness is back with his hands shaking and a jittery feeling in his stomach, which makes him stop by the restrooms before returning to his classroom.

It felt good to be mischievous for once, to banter with Sugawara – it felt better, to be on the phone with him and to hear his voice.

Oikawa knows that he is a lost cause.

He’d rather be cool and suave.

He’d rather seduce Sugawara than falling himself.

Yet, he enjoys this. He’s excited.

 

*

 

Oikawa has had time to change clothes before going to Torono town – and what a clever idea it was, he thinks, as a group of Karasuno kids pass him by the entrance of the karaoke place. He pulls the collar of his coat a bit higher. He doesn’t want anyone to know by a glance that it’s him.

“Oi… you.”

Anyone, but _him_.

“Is my name a curse that you don’t dare to speak it?”

 “Did you wait long?” Sugawara asks, avoiding to answer.

Oikawa takes a good look at him. He could be blushing, or at least be a little flushed from hurrying over here, but no. Sugawara’s face is pale as ever, his breathing is slow and calm. _He is so not cute._

“You’re not late.”

It’s not really a reply to the question. But the reply to the question would be yes, Oikawa has been standing there for quite a long time – given how nervous he was, he arrived near an hour early – and this is not the type of information he is willing to share with Sugawara.

Luckily for Oikawa’s pride and wellbeing, Sugawara accepts it without further ado.

“Oh, good. The battery of my watch had to die today, I had no idea of the time…”

“Although you didn’t seem to be in a hurry to get here,” Oikawa retorts.

“A gentleman’s never in a hurry,” Sugawara sends him a wide smile. He looks so beautiful, so refreshing, so… unlike his _real_ nature.

“Since when were you gentle? Did I miss something?” Oikawa grimaces.

“I’m always gentle.” Sugawara’s words are nothing but a whisper, and they hold so much to _promise…_

“Except when you’re not,” Oikawa says.

“Stirring something to bring its essence to the surface is gentleness.”

“How poetic.”

“Oh please, I’m not even close to your level. How was it? ‘A true romantic moment is when you realize just how fleeting your existence is.’” Sugawara laughs, placing his hand on his heart dramatically.

“Don’t remind me of my dark past,” Oikawa growls.

“Oh why not?” Sugawara asks with a big toothy smile on his face and this time, when he starts talking again, he seems honest enough for Oikawa not to cut in immediately. “You’re really smooth with your compliments. I’ve gotta admit I was flattered,” Sugawara says.

“If you say so,” Oikawa mumbles bashfully, and there is a distinct sparkle in Sugawara’s eye, the sign of mischief coming.

“… even if you said them to get into my pants.”

“I was not!” Oikawa snaps. Then, in a much tamer voice, he adds: “Probably.”

Sugawara snorts at the addition, but they only burst out in laughter truly as their eyes meet. They laugh for a good minute, Sugawara clutching on the arms of Oikawa’s coat for support.

It’s the moment the fit of laughter passes, but Sugawara still clings onto him that Oikawa loses his composure and lets a risky question slip out between his lips.

“Why would you stir something that’s perfectly fine the way it is?”

Sugawara looks at him with renewed interest; his golden brown eyes inquisitive, his lips curling up in a fascinated grin.

“Aren’t there too many people here for this kind of talk?” he asks in low voice and it sends shivers down Oikawa’s spine.

Oikawa is smooth. Usually.

But being around Sugawara brings out the most unusual of him, and this is so much worse than simply blushing and mumbling, because he is red as a tomato and he’s sweating and trembling from embarrassment…

“It’s... it’s not like…”

And there goes the mumbling.

“It’s not like you were perfectly fine,” Sugawara helps him out, and it’s the exact opposite of what Oikawa planned to say, but he can’t really counter it either, because it’s the truth: he’s been bad, he’s been depressed and lonely and afraid; he wished school wouldn’t end so soon, because he doesn’t feel ready to step out there and try hard on his own in something unknown… yes, he was not perfectly fine.

“So… you took pity on me back then, when you invited me for karaoke?” he asks.

“I invited you, because you seemed frustrated,” Sugawara says and his voice has almost threatening edge, as if Oikawa has angered him. “Now come on, let’s get a bit further from the crowd,” he continues, grabbing Oikawa’s hand and dragging him through the crowded main street into a quieter street near the station.

It looks familiar.

It’s the street they’ve entered after they had left the liquor store, when Sugawara offered him his sofa. It’s the street where Oikawa nearly fell over, only to be caught by Sugawara. He can point out the exact lamppost under which they started holding hands.

His instincts tell him to stop.

“I’ve just came to give you your T-shirt back…” self-explanatory he lifts up his hand holding the paper bag, and Sugawara grabs it and takes it from him immediately.

“Good, now you’ve given it back. So,” he says conclusively, walking forward. “You took a 40 minutes bus ride to come. It would be a shame if you already returned.”

“Where are we heading to?” Oikawa asks, tailing a few steps behind.

“Would you like to come over?” Sugawara suggests. “My parents are home.”

Oikawa is popular.  Most of the times when someone asks him to come over, they reason with ‘my parents are _not_ home’. Yet, with Sugawara, he is strangely thankful for this little addition.

“I don’t want to be a burden,” he starts.

“Then don’t waste my time, just come.”

 

*

 

Sugawara’s parents are called Kouhei and Nojiko. Kouhei is a short and boney, grey-haired man – his son has already outgrown him – who wears glasses, and greets people with terrible puns and a smack on their shoulders just as hard as his son. Nojiko, on the other hand, is a tall woman with slightly curly hair, warm brown eyes and a wide, toothy grin. Unlike her son, who is a devil in an angel’s disguise, Nojiko is truly refreshing and charming.

It’s hard not to like them, and Oikawa didn’t sign up for this. He is not ready to be invested in the family of Sugawara, to enjoy talking with them – he is not even sure if he will ever see them again, given the non-existent relationship he has with Sugawara.

He is not ready to like these people – or to be licked shiny by their huge dumb dog.

“He likes you,” Sugawara’s father says.

“It seems so,” Oikawa agrees, sporting his best smile.

“It’s not the first time he sees you after all,” Sugawara comments silently, so his parents can’t hear. “He must’ve taken a liking to you when you rubbed his belly last time.”

“It was not the only belly I rubbed last time,” Oikawa bites back, and to his surprise, Sugawara _blushes_.

It seems they work the exact opposite way. While Oikawa flourish among people, Sugawara looks meeker with his parents around.

Not that Oikawa has any complaints.

“Will you stay for dinner, Oikawa-kun? Koushi told us that a friend of him might come over, so I prepared a bit more than usual,” Sugawara’s mom inquires.

“In this case, I must.”

“Great. I hope you like curry. Koushi requested super spicy mapo tofu, but I was worried whether you can take spicy food…”

“Curry is perfect,” Oikawa says, gradually getting used to the fact that ‘Koushi’ refers to ‘Mr Refreshing’.

“So, Tooru,” Sugawara’s father leans closer. “You are not from Karasuno, right?”

“No sir, I attend Aoba Jousai. We’ve met with… _Koushi_ … through volleyball.”

“Oh, and what position you play?”

“He’s a setter,” Sugawara replies.

“A rival, then,” his father comments.

“It’s not much of a rivalry anymore, as I’ve already retired from my club,” Oikawa says. ‘And I lost. Twice out of our three matches together.”

“That’s not true, as a setter Oikawa easily overshadows me,” Sugawara cuts in. “I’m seriously envious of his abilities…”

And they go on like this, chatting away the time until dinner is over.

And as dinner is over, Sugawara announces that they will be up in his room.

It comes surprisingly fast, the moment they find themselves alone, and Sugawara, be 10 centimetres shorter, still finds a way to loom over him.

“So, would you like to watch a movie, read some manga or shall we get straight to the point when you tell me whether you have overcome your fear about being interested in a man or not yet?”

“I didn’t,” Oikawa disregards most of the question as with Sugawara’s hands on his face he deems them irrelevant. “But I plan to improve.”

 

*

 

“You’re making me nervous,” Sugawara giggles. He is sitting on his bed cross-legged, fully-clothed. “Don’t stare so intensely.”

“I’m not,” Oikawa hushes, one knee on the bed, approaching Sugawara like some predator.

“You look at me like you look at a volleyball before a serve.”

“I don’t.”

“You do. I don’t want to get hit.”

“I would never–” he leans down slowly, explanatory, and with a heart beating like there’s no tomorrow he presses his lips on the beauty mark in the corner of Sugawara’s eye.

“That’s reassuring,” Sugawara snickers, planting his arms behind him to support himself against Oikawa’s attack.

“Your skin is so fucking soft,” Oikawa grumbles, grazing his lips along Sugawara’s cheeks from his temple to his nose.

“Yeah, you told me this before.”

“Then I’ll just repeat myself. It’s amazing.”

“So, did you like the tamagoyaki?” Sugawara asks abruptly, pulling away just an inch.

“Is this the best time…?” Oikawa asks, his nerves getting at him. Then, he notices the flush on Sugawara’s face, the frenzy in his eyes, the trembling of his elbow supporting his weight.

“I take pride in my omelettes, just so you know.”

“They were sweet,” he kisses Sugawara softly. “I like them sweet. I’m happy your mom didn’t make spicy tofu, I could’ve died…”

“Heh,” Sugawara smiles. “Weakling.”

“Shut up.”

Oikawa deepens their kiss, his hands finally finding their way into the hair of Sugawara, pulling the boy closer.

“So…” Sugawara starts, sighing against his lips. “How do you like _me?”_

Oikawa takes a good look at Sugawara. His face is flushed red, his eyes half mast, wet lips opening to breathe his name.

“Oikawa?”

“Hmm,” he leans back, contemplating. Preferably he would not like to admit the scale of his affection. Preferably, he would play it cool.

But what for?

All the blushing and mumbling has sold his secrets long ago.

“The teasing Sugawara Koushi makes me crazy. He’s insufferable. Annoying. Cheeky. He’s so shameless I feel like dying. I prefer the Sugawara Koushi who blushes.”

“I’m sorry, they come in a set. You can’t buy one without the other.”

“Such a tough decision!”

“Should I try hard selling?”

“Not with your parents at home.”

“Such a decent young man you are.”

 

*

 

“So, shall we watch a movie now?”

“Anything if I reach my last bus.”

“Why not spend the night? I can lend you another shirt, and you’ll have a reason to return again.”

“Nah… tomorrow’s school.”

“What a good kid,” Sugawara laughs and covers his exposed neck in fleeting kisses.

“Also,” he says as Sugawara trails his jawline up to his ear. “Next time you should come over.”

 

Oikawa is Oikawa.

And he is in _love_.


End file.
